grounding yourself, soothing your ache, even in pain.

many nights, i ache of an emptiness that i could never explain.

many nights, i feel so deeply in my core all that i am is an vacant cavern of crumbling walls, a candle that will not hold her flame, the moment before a breath of shivering air enters your lungs when you are so close and yet so agonizingly far from being alive. i am perpetually stagnant in this place of apathy, excruciating nothingness, and solitude beyond comprehension.

i am lost.

i have had no words for over a week now. the pages are blank. everything is blank. i am gone. everything is gone. this blog has become in my mind a place shrouded in my own self-inflicted hatred; i cannot even find words here. everything inside of me is gone. the darkness is looming.

i am lost.

i force myself to exist, i force myself to eat. breathing is a tormenting task. i remain everlastingly numb. i shed tears from under my overwhelming cloak of detachment. i loathe my existence with all that i am. i cannot speak. my life is a disgrace in the shadow of the living, my world is smaller than you could ever know. if a soul even tried to find me here, in the blink of an eye, i’d slip away again. i feel as though with each gasp of oxygen that escapes my body, i leave myself. and it is the most lonely place you can imagine, when even your body is nothing close to a home. i am lost.

many nights, i still question why on earth i feel so intangible in my own body. my soul feeds off of the false hope, leaving me cross-hatched with scars and bloody by the sunrise. i can barely stand it. i wonder what it even feels like to live in ones own body. it is incomprehensible. i am lost.

my lungs breathe only shallow breaths. my shoulders arc forwards as if carrying my frigid heart towards the bleak earth. my vision is oh so dim. my skin screams out in desperation, urging me brandish blades to my own body, this so-called home that feels everything like war. i brandish, i hurt, i descend deeper. i am lost.

i do not know how to exist. and this, dear ones, is not a post of eloquence, though i wish with my whole trembling heart that it could be. and know that i am sorry, and i am persevering, and i am trying. hopefully i will arrive there again.

no, this is a post about survival. about grounding. about how to brave the night that steals you away, and how to endure your own being after it relinquishes you as a broken mess every morning when the sun begins to rise.

these are the small things that keep me alive. the things that allow me to proceed in the face of relentless dissociation and devastating discord.

please, please, please let us survive this.


let the steam rise and touch your face. choose a mug with a smooth handle. close your eyes, dear. you are alive. you are safe and warm and alive. feel your lungs expand, your chest move, your breath warm and moving at the back of your throat. close the door. you are safe in the quiet stillness, love, i promise. one hand on the handle of your mug, the other palm facing towards the soft soil of the earth. lay your palm on your knee. it is okay, oh so so okay, if making contact with any other part of your body is too severe. you are okay. you are here. alive. sip your tea. mint, chamomile, cinnamon, or rose. (i choose “hot cinnamon spice” from harney & sons. every time. it has many times been a saving grace.) let the warmth travel. this is all you. you are one, and you always will be. you are not too broken, or too shattered, or too far gone. let your heart beat slower. you are here. you are here. you are here.


your breath is all that matters, dear one. unfurl your mat, and move slowly. slowly. you are deserving of taking up space. allow the crown of your head to rise to the tremendous sky above, even when you feel more constricted than you could even whisper. close your eyes. crossed legs, one hand to chest and one to heart. there is nothing to loathe within you. you are surviving in the only way your body knows how; give your body time to trust again, to feel again, to sigh in relief again. begin to move, your breath profoundly deep within you. you feel splintered, and exhausted, and ruined beyond repair, but in this moment you are one. you are one and you are healing. this pain shall not overtake you. one day, you will live. you will.


i know that you spend too much time in the darkness, grasping for the decaying corners within yourself that you believe your soul should be. i know that this world feel nothing like truth. i know that you do not even know what it feels like to comprehend being anything close to utterly alive. but these are the moments when you choose this world, right here and right now, even in the face of all that is desperately obscure. this is where you wrap yourself in a blanket. you sit with a soul you love, a soul whose entity fills even just the smallest fragment of hopelessness inside of you, and you let their hand or their heart or their words touch yours. you listen to the flutter of the leaves as they descend to the earth, the earth that is yours, too; i swear this to you with every ounce of my being. this is where you put on a sweater so big that the wool drapes down to your thighs, where you ball the thick and comforting fabric into your fists, and you let your tears fall. this is where you listen to the birds sing, remembering that the world is so much more vast than your prison of eternal nightfall. this is where you make hot oatmeal on the stove, adding in extra cinnamon. this is where you write, because even emptiness is filled with truth. this is where you light candles, letting the dancing flames of the embers remind you that there can always be light after darkness. this is where you land, this is where you ground yourself when all feels lost. you breathe in this very second, and nothing else. you use this moment and this moment alone, to survive just one breath longer in the place from where you believed there to be no hope of liberation.

let us, one moment at a time, survive what we feel is insufferable. let us, one moment at a time, live through this dissonance and make it until tomorrow.

it cannot feel this way forever.

there must be more to life.



17 thoughts on “grounding yourself, soothing your ache, even in pain.

  1. So beautifully written, as words from the bleeding soul often are. I understand so intensely the feeling of not belonging, not even within yourself. This phrase:
    “I wonder what it even feels like to live in ones own body. it is incomprehensible. I am lost.” It resonates, oh so much.
    Yet words of hope still stem from somewhere within you, a candle light in the darkness for you to hold on to, and you share it so vividly as a branch of safety for us to hold onto right alongside you. You have an amazing gift, never stop writing xoxo

    Liked by 4 people

    1. The views, the likes… none of that matters as long as you are true to yourself. People can be so scared of witnessing the darkness, as though it will somehow transfer onto them, yet it is the honesty about all aspects of life that makes it so real and so beautiful. xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I found so much comfort in these words – I suffer from that chronic emptiness characteristic of BPD – yay >.< There are times when I wish the sadness would return, just to escape the NOTHINGNESS that fills me lately… even starvation would be a more welcome sensation. Such a tough, utterly indescribable emotion, and foreign to so many people I think. Maybe it's just a weird emotion.
    As soon as I saw the word tea, I was instantly heartened. Here's someone else who relies on the warmth of a cup and the sooth of a sip when sharp objects are out of reach. You say this was not destined to be a post of eloquence, but I disagree. I think your writing is always eloquent, whether you're trying to be so or not.
    Thanks for writing to fend off the emptiness, your words are always a comfort to me ❤ ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. fucking yes! tea! on my fourth cup for the day (it’s 4pm in NSW, Au) and that’s pretty low for me ha. so glad you could relate 🙂 my descriptions of emptiness (plus some other stuff, lol) is actually what led to me being diagnosed with BPD – here’s a good website about it if you’re interested:
    (BPD description starts on page 6)

    thanks so much faye, it really does mean a lot to hear from someone else that I have a soul! and the same goes for you – soulless people don’t write beautiful things for others to find x

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I also can relate to this very much, and Birdy it is VERY eloquent. You really do have a beautiful way with words. Some of us enter and exist in such dark spaces at times, spaces where there are no words to fully describe the experience. Its existential really. but nevertheless this post expresses some of that. I also long for life outside all of that darkness and sometimes I glimpse it. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ❤ I just wonder why we can feel so so much heartache at times, it sometimes feels like the degree of pain is too much for one body, never entirely sure where it all comes from. I know when I feel like giving up I just pray and hold on. It often shifts then. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  5. First, you are a BEAUTIFUL writer. Your words move me to tears and resonate with me on a profound level. I too have lived in the darkness you are residing in and please believe me when I tell you, it is NOT the end. You will NOT reside in it forever. You already have so many tools to grow your happiness, one little seed at a time. The tea, the yoga, the moments, these are ESSENTIAL to healing. Take these small victories, even if you are consumed by your hurt all day, cling to those moments of happiness with ferocity. Go back to them not with nostalgia but as a life raft when your mind and heart are dark and you are scared. I promise you, little by little your happiness will come back to you. Your days will be filled with a majority of light and not darkness. It is work, those of us whose brains work against us have to work extra hard for our happiness, but it makes our light that much brighter and our happiness that much more profound. Your spirit speaks of a wisdom beyond most that I know, and it is because you have had to experience immense pain. Use it, let that pain be your armor and let it teach you how to love and grow. You’re amazing, I wish you so much strength on your journey to healing.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Bird, I’m not even sure where to begin. I relate to every word. You are a kindred spirit. I have been in this place this post speaks of many times, for many periods of my life.

    You are here. I love this. I love this writing, because I empathize. I scream “yes” to every phrase. But my heart breaks for yours, for ours. For everyone who has been through this.

    You are a powerful writer, a raw, vulnerable, beautiful individual.

    You will get through this time.

    Every single day is still a struggle… but like you say .. there is beauty in the every day. There is something to grasp to. I have found a faith that has changed all perspective.
    Thank you for sharing this, Bird. I wish I had the same courage to share my story. Maybe one day. You are not alone. I am thankful for you, for your writing, and your new friendship. I am honored to follow along on your journey..

    I heard a quote today that I think you will relate to…

    “Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”

    Sometimes it is easier to take out the anger toward the world, toward humanity upon ourselves. I believe sometimes the most compassionate, loving individuals are plagued with the most debilitating of self-inflicted pain. I have been there and am there many days. I may be missing the mark, but I truly hope this encourages you. YOU are incredible, and have such an awe-inspiring purpose in this life, more than you can possibly know.

    All my love

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Birdy, I relate to this, I feel this too. Not in exactly the same way of course, as everybody has different experiences, but the pain and it’s immense depths – you are not all by yourself in that. We are with you. I am so happy that you are grounding yourself, that you are keeping going against all odds. I’m so happy you are part of this world 💛

    Liked by 1 person

  8. To believe that there is a light beyond the darkness can be so hard. At my worst moments in the past, I’ve thought about ending it all for myself because every second felt like I was just prolonging my pain with no end to it in sight. The way I saw things then, it was difficult for me to see past what I was presently feeling in the moment and understand that, “hey, it won’t always be like this. give it a few hours, sleep on your feelings overnight and face the day tomorrow and maybe you’ll find that what you were feeling yesterday is different from today.”

    Liked by 1 person

  9. So beautiful. So raw. So full of yearning. I wish I could take away the pain and confusion – take away the nothingness.
    You are eloquent, dear soul.
    You are incredibly intelligent.
    You are a writer – and a powerful one.
    You can change this world.
    I pray that when the day comes that you finally can finally whisper “I made it” … that you use all of your supportive words to write and publish your story.
    I have no idea who you are – but I support you and care about your soul. Keep fighting to share your spirit with this world. You aren’t alone. Ever. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

  10. It won’t feel this way forever. We are here, right now, in this present moment, breathing and surviving and being. I feel lost often too. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been asleep my whole life. But we’re here. We are ourselves, and we are being, and we are grounded. The sun is out for us, the grass is damp for us, and we’re here.

    Liked by 2 people

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